


Clark Kent

by pineapplefan



Category: The Outsiders - S. E. Hinton
Genre: Angst, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-04
Updated: 2015-10-04
Packaged: 2018-02-23 00:43:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2527667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pineapplefan/pseuds/pineapplefan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Johnny Cade might not know it, but he saved you that night. One-Shot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Clark Kent

You peer into your brothers' bedroom. It's something you've become obsessed with: making sure they're okay, that they're still there. You never want to take your eyes off of them.

It's been two weeks since your parents passed, and each day feels longer and longer. You're overwhelmed to say the least. Between cooking meals, and cleaning the house, and getting Pony and Soda off to school, and dealing with social services, and trying to find a job, and paying bills, and funeral arrangements… you're just barely holding it together.

But as overwhelming as the days are, you dread the nights most of all. At night, everything slows down and you are left alone with your thoughts. And right now, your mind is a very unstable and vulnerable place.

You continue to stand at the doorway, watching your brothers sleep. There is some moonlight creeping in through the window and you can see that the pair is snuggled up close. Soda is lying on his stomach with his arm across Pony's chest. Almost as if he's shielding him from any more pain that might come their way.

You look on with envy, wishing you had a big brother to protect you at night. Because night is when you let your guard down. You let yourself break after an entire day of being stoic and strong.

You decide to head to the kitchen to get a glass of water. You're restless, and you know sleep won't come easily.

Out of all the rooms in the house, you hate being in the kitchen most of all. The kitchen is where your family spent most of its time together. Where you ate, laughed, talked… It was where you were the happiest.

You stand at the sink, sipping on your water, looking out through the window at your backyard. You can feel your focus starting to slip away. You always try not to let your mind wander to the night you received the news. But it always seems to shove its way back into your memory.

At the time, it felt like like you were in a dream. The officers stood at the front door, with their caps removed, their speech coming through garbled - it was almost as if you had water in your ears.

But you heard the important words. They rang through your brain like a gong. Parents… car accident… killed. And the faces of your brothers were etched into your memory so vividly it makes you sick. Their disbelief, their anguish, their fear… it all reflected what you felt in your gut.

You thought it would get easier as the days passed. But the more time that passes, the more you feel like you're drowning.

You set your glass down on the counter because your hands have started to shake. That's been happening a lot, and it unsettles you. It makes you feel out of control. Everyone is counting on you to hold it together, but you can't even maintain a steady hand.

You start feeling faint, so you sit down right there on the kitchen floor, using the edge of the sink to lower yourself to the ground. You pull you legs into your chest and bury your face in your knees, trying to muffle the sobs that have overcome you.

You don't know how long you sit there. You can't stop crying, no matter how hard you try. You can't stand that they're gone. And you can't help but think it's not fair that you're the one that has to take their place.

Of course, you didn't think twice about throwing away your college dreams. You would do anything for your brothers. Anything. And you don't and you won't resent them for it. But it's not fair all the same.

The truth is, you just miss them. Plain and simple. But you've tried so hard not to show it. You put so much pressure on yourself to stay strong, for your brothers. You can only keep so much bottled up. You were bound to snap sometime.

And now, you're too exhausted to keep that façade. So you let yourself cry. And you don't know when you'll stop.

"Darry?" Someone says your name from across the kitchen and you snap your head up in a panic. You're afraid that it's Sodapop or Ponyboy. You're afraid for them to see you like this. So broken.

But it's not them. It's Johnny Cade. You hadn't even heard him come in the front door.

While you're relieved, it doesn't make you feel any less embarrassed. You grab onto the sink and hoist yourself up, still shaking. You turn your back on your unexpected guest. "Hey, kid," you mumble, wiping your eyes and cheeks with your hand.

He hasn't stayed over in a while. Not since before the accident. None of the gang has. So you weren't exactly expecting him tonight.

Johnny doesn't return your greeting. "Are you okay?" he asks softly, his voice careful.

You turn back around to face him, nodding your head. "Yeah," you say hoarsely, taking in the kid's appearance. He's got a black eye and a busted lip. It looks like his dad is back to his old ways. "Are you?"

He nods. He's been through worse. But he's not okay, and neither are you, and you both know it.

Your breaths are still coming in hiccuping gasps as you make your way to the ice box. You pull out a bag of frozen peas and hold them out to your guest. "For your lip," you explain.

"Thanks," Johnny says, taking the peas from you. It doesn't go unnoticed by him that your hands are trembling. "Maybe you ought to step outside for a bit, Dar," he suggests gently, meeting your eyes. "Get some fresh air."

You nod. That's not such a bad idea. You make your way to the porch. He follows.

You have a seat on the stoop, taking long, even breaths, trying to slow your heart rate. He sits beside you, watching, holding the peas up to his busted lip.

"You sure you're alright, Darry?" he asks shyly, after your breaths have slowed. You know it must've startled him, seeing you like that.

You let out a deep breath. "Yeah, I'm okay," you answer, pinching the bridge of your nose. You hate when people ask if you're okay, because it makes a liar out of you.

"I-I didn't mean to walk in on you or nothin'…" Johnny says nervously. "I thought y'all would be in bed."

"It's okay," you assure him. In fact, you're grateful he was there to snap you out of it.

But you also feel like you owe him an explanation - a reason that he found you hugging your knees on the cold, hard, kitchen floor, with tears streaming down your face. But that would be a hard explanation to give. So you trust that he knows why and you remain quiet.

Johnny sets the bag of peas down and reaches into his jacket pocket for his pack of cigarettes. He offers one to you, and you accept. You can't remember the last time you smoked a cigarette. You'd quit long ago because of football. But tonight you throw caution to the wind and take a cancer stick because you know it will help you relax. Besides, football is out of the question now anyway.

You sit silently, watching Johnny blow smoke rings toward the sky. He is pretty good at it. Better than Pony is, that's for sure. As you watch him, you wonder if you should say something, anything, to break the silence, but you really aren't up for talking. You do appreciate his company though.

You huff on your own cigarette until your mouth starts getting dry. Then you just let it hang between your fingertips, flicking the ash out onto the pavement before you. You do your best to empty your mind and try to focus on the sounds of the night. The wind, the crickets, the single owl hooting in the distance…

"Do you know why we call you 'Superman', Darry?" Johnny asks suddenly, putting his cigarette out with the tip of his shoe.

You put your cigarette out too, and then turn your head to face him. Johnny is not a man of many words. He doesn't speak unless he feels something needs to be said. So when he talks, it's important. And you listen.

You don't have an answer to his question though. "I dunno," you say. "I've never given it much thought." You always thought it was because of your athletic ability. Dally just called you it one day and it stuck.

"It's because you always put everybody else before yourself," Johnny tells you simply. "You keep a level head, keep us out of trouble. You've always been like that… Even before the accident."

You nod vaguely. "It's the way I have to be," you say. "Especially now. I ain't got a choice anymore. Soda and Pony are countin' on me."

"Yeah," Johnny agrees. "But no one's expecting you to be a hero, Darry. Hell, even Superman is Clark Kent most of the time."

You let Johnny's words sink in. You find it amazing that he can say so much in such few words. In just a few short sentences, he's lifted some weight off your shoulders. _No one's expecting you to be a hero._

Johnny picks up the bag of peas and stands. You tilt you head up to look at him.

"You've got a lot on your plate, Darry. I ain't discountin' that. But sometimes I think you forget you have a whole gang on your side, willing to help." He lets out a deep breath and bites down on his lip. That was a quite a speech for little Johnny Cade. He rocks back and forth on his feet and you know he's waiting for you to say something.

But you've got a lump in your throat and you know your voice won't work. So you turn your head away from him and wipe your eyes, drying the tears that have started to fall again.

"I-I'm going to go inside," Johnny tells you softly, when he figures you aren't going to say anything.

You nod, and seconds later you hear the screen door close. He's careful not to let it slam.

You sit on the stoop a couple moments longer, looking up at the sky. You take three more deep breaths. Then you stand up, dust yourself off, and hurry inside.

Johnny is in the bathroom, getting washed up. While you're waiting, you get him some fresh sheets from the linen closet. Then you take a seat in the armchair. When he emerges from the bathroom, you stand, and hold the sheets out to him. He takes them graciously and sets them on the couch.

"You alright?" you ask him again, gingerly turning his head to face you. His lip looks better now that he's washed it up, but his eye is getting blacker by the minute.

"Yeah, Darry, I'm fine. Honest."

You're skeptical, but you accept his reply. "Alright," you say, and ruffle his hair. "Get some sleep." You start to head to your bedroom, but then you stop and turn around. "Hey, Johnny?"

"Yeah?" he asks, lifting his head to look at you.

You meet his eyes and clear your throat gruffly. "Thanks, kid."

He accepts your gratitude by giving you a slight smile in return. "Sure, Dar."

You exchange goodnights, and then you go to bed.

While you're lying in bed waiting for sleep to come, your mind begins to wander like it always does. You think about your parents and how you miss them more than anything in the world. You think about the future, and it scares you. You think about your brothers and hope you will be able to do right by them.

But for the first time since the accident, you don't feel alone. You don't feel like you're drowning. You know you have people to count on, and you know they'll support you no matter what.

Sleepiness starts to take over. So you pull the covers over your head and thank your lucky stars for Johnny Cade.

You couldn't get along without him.


End file.
